


All In A Day's Work

by unbrokenblackbird



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood Loss, Gen, I'm Bad At Summaries, Injured Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poisoning, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Worried Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27262246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbrokenblackbird/pseuds/unbrokenblackbird
Summary: Geralt is badly injured during a contract far from home, leaving a less-than-impressed Jaskier to put him back together.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	All In A Day's Work

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom is a bit of a departure for me, I know, but I found this piece knocking around my hard drive and it was almost finished so... I decided to finish it and see what the Internet makes of it.
> 
> I've never published anything for the Witcher fandom before so please do consider leaving me a comment with your thoughts/criticisms - it will really help me if I write more Witcher in the future. Thank you!

"Geralt? Geralt! Witcher, if you die on me I'll… I'll… I'll never forgive you!" 

The unfortunate truth—which Jaskier was trying very hard not to admit to himself—was that there was very little he could do to stop the witcher from doing just that. When he'd initially staggered from the cave, covered in blood but victorious, the bard had expected to simply head back to town, claim the reward and head to the tavern for a bath and some well-earned beer. What he hadn't expected was for Geralt to collapse before he'd even made it to where they'd tied up the horses. 

It turned out that a fair portion of the blood was actually his, pouring from a set of deep claw wounds across his chest and side. Jaskier had dug into Geralt's potion supplies and carefully administered the concoction known as Swallow, one drop at a time to avoid drowning him. He'd seen the witcher knock it back after fights in the past, but it didn't seem to be helping much. The bleeding had slowed significantly but not stopped entirely and the witcher was yet to stir. 

"Geralt, please. I don't know what to do. Please wake up."

Jaskier had set to work turning spare shirts into bandages and pressing them over the wounds, but all that seemed to achieve was soaking the cloth (and himself) in blood while doing little to stop the flow. He could feel panic rising in the back of his throat like acid, but he swallowed it down and kept pressing on the wounds, talking to the unconscious man in the hopes that if all else failed, he could irritate him into regaining consciousness.

"If you don't wake up soon, I shall start singing. And not well, either. I will make up a particularly awful song, just for you. Don't test me on this, Geralt. I'll do it!" 

This threat was no more successful than his previous attempts to plead the witcher awake. Feeling his hope draining away faster than the light of the afternoon sun, Jaskier blinked hard as his eyes began to prickle with the first tears of desperation. 

"Come on. You can't give up now. Not like this."

Despite knowing that they were in the middle of nowhere and thus too far for him to seek out or summon help without leaving Geralt alone, Jaskier found himself looking around for something, anything. The trees swayed around him, unforgiving and grim in the growing darkness. 

"Fuck. Fuck! What do I do? Geralt, what do I do?" 

For lack of any other ideas, he checked Geralt's pulse again. Still as unnaturally slow as ever but at least it was there. He didn't know what he'd do if it stopped. A chill breeze rustled through the trees around them and he briefly considered moving into the cave for shelter, but scrapped that idea almost instantly. There was no way he'd be able to move Geralt into the cave without some help from the witcher, not in all his chainmail and leather. It had been enough of an ordeal just turning him over. He shivered as the breeze picked up again, pulling his jacket tighter around himself like a blanket. 

_Blankets. Jaskier, you idiot!_

"I will be right back, do _not_ go anywhere!" 

Scrambling to his feet, he ran through the forest to where Roach and Pegasus were tethered. Roach whinnied in alarm as he burst from the trees, but subsided as she recognised the bard. Remembering what had happened the last time he'd touched her without permission, Jaskier approached cautiously from the side, keeping his voice as calm and soft as he could. "I'm just here for blankets, alright? They're for Geralt. Please don't bite me again…"

He kept up this steady stream of murmurs until he was able to unbuckle one of the saddlebags and pull out an armful of woolen blankets. _Perfect._ Remembering his manners, he gave the horse a nod and a murmur of thanks, before turning and running back through the forest to where he'd left the witcher. 

"Please don't be dead, please don't be dead…" he chanted under his breath as he dropped the pile of blankets and checked for Geralt's heartbeat again. For a long, horrible moment he felt nothing at all, then: _thump._

"Yes! You had me really worried for a moment there, you know that?" 

Fully aware that the man could not hear him and thus he was talking largely to himself, Jaskier nonetheless kept up his forcibly-cheerful patter as he spread one blanket over the witcher, then another. The third he wrapped around himself, sitting cross-legged beside his friend. "And you know Yennefer will never forgive me if I let you die, so you'd better—" 

There was a sound, almost inaudible under two layers of wool and Jaskier's chattering, but he heard it. "Geralt?" 

"Hmm?" 

Scrambling over so he could see Geralt's face, Jaskier nearly sobbed in relief to see those yellow, cat-like eyes flickering open. "Never thought I'd say this but I am so glad to see that glare."

"Jaskier?" The witcher's voice was weak, his eyes already sliding closed again. 

"Oh no you don't. You wake up right now!" Jaskier smacked his cheek with the flat of his fingers. "Wake up. Tell me how to help you."

The witcher's eyes flickered open again, focusing on him just for a moment before drifting again. "P…Poison… Need golden…oriole. And w-white…" 

That seemed to be all the speech he had strength for, as his eyes slid shut once again, his head falling limply to the side. 

"God dammit, witcher!" Jaskier resisted the urge to smack him again and instead reached for the leather bag. "What the hell does golden oriole look like, anyway? Is it actually gold? Because if I end up killing you by giving you the wrong thing…" he muttered as he fished around inside. "Why can't you witchers just label things?" 

His fingers closed around a bottle but when he pulled it out, he saw it was the wrong colour—a deep magenta pink, not golden yellow or clear white. "Nope, that can't be it."

_Wait. Did he mean white gull? White honey? White… What was that other one called? Something beginning with 'r'?_

Cursing his past self for not paying more attention when he'd seen Geralt use these, Jaskier set the pink potion to one side and kept digging. Eventually he pulled out a vial of golden-yellow liquid and grinned. "Gotcha! Geralt, I found one!" 

The witcher didn't respond but Jaskier hadn't really expected him to. He did, however, need him to wake up enough to actually drink the thing. "Come on, witcher, rise and shine." He smacked his cheek again, lightly at first, then harder until the man opened his eyes again. "There you go. Here."

Later Jaskier would reflect on the trust Geralt showed him just then, as he didn't even question whether the bard had found the correct potion, just opened his mouth and drank. Now, however, was not the time. 

He carefully tipped it a little at a time so Geralt wouldn't choke - now _that_ would be a nice piece of irony, killing him while trying to save him. Once the vial was empty, he sat back for a minute and watched Geralt's face. He'd closed his eyes again but not in unconsciousness; this time a frown creased his brow and every so often a wince of pain crossed his expression. Eventually he took a deep breath, hissing through his teeth at the movement of his injured chest, and opened his eyes again. For the first time that evening, they looked clear and lucid. 

"How do you feel?" Jaskier asked softy. 

Geralt glared silently in response.

"Alright, stupid question…" Jaskier looked away, his gaze returning to the mess of discarded bottles. "Which 'white' did you mean, by the way? I've found at least three different—" 

"Raffard's." 

Geralt's eyes narrowed at the results of Jaskier's panicked search, strewn across the ground. The bard grimaced and set to work, eventually locating a round bottle of what looked almost like water, until he noticed the tiny flecks of silver glinting within. "This one?"

Geralt gave an affirmative hum, his eyes following Jaskier's movements as the bard reached for the bottle and repeated the process of helping him drink. Again he closed his eyes, his already pale skin whitening still further while the veins around his eyes and down his neck stood out starkly for a moment. Then Jaskier blinked and the witcher looked normal again, albeit still pale. When he opened his eyes, the pupils were so wide his eyes looked black. The bard looked away, not wishing to embarrass the witcher further by staring at him, and busied himself with putting away the empty and unneeded potion vials. Perhaps it was worth seeing if Geralt would teach him the formulae; he seemed to get through them at a worrying rate, although he supposed that came with the territory of being a witcher—

"Jaskier."

"Hmm?" He looked round and saw that Geralt was watching him. 

"You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"Thinking too hard. You'll hurt yourself." Still weakened, the witcher's voice wasn't quite as gruff as normal but there was a note of amusement in it that raised Jaskier's hackles. 

"Right, of course. Because it was me _thinking too hard_ that got us into this mess. It's _my_ fault that you took this contract despite being under-prepared, or that you got yourself poisoned, or that you nearly died!" Jaskier hadn't meant to raise his voice but as his words echoed into the sudden silence, he realised he was on his feet and shouting.

_Oh gods…_

Face burning with humiliation, he turned away and faced into the trees, fighting the urge to run back to the horses. They might judge him too but at least they'd do it quietly. 

"Jaskier?" Geralt's voice was quieter, softer now. "What—" 

"Nothing. Never mind. Forget I said anything." Jaskier didn't turn around. "I'm going to check on the horses, find some firewood. It's freezing. Maybe find something to eat. I'll be back in a minute."

* * *

_Stupid, stupid! What the hell is wrong with you?_

He stomped through the underbrush, yelping as a tangle of thorns swiped across his legs, drawing blood. The sudden noise startled the horses, but on seeing it was just him they calmed again. He looked through the saddlebags on both horses and turned up a bottle of water, a pouch of dried meat and a few apples. Giving one apple each to the horses, he left them tethered and headed back to the clearing with the rest of his loot slung over his shoulder. On the way he grabbed an armful of dry deadfall, as much as he could carry: he'd prefer not to make multiple trips into the woods after dark. 

Geralt was sitting up with his back against a tree when Jaskier returned, his yellow eyes unreadable as they watched him approach. "How are the horses?"

"Fine." Jaskier dropped his arm load of wood and unslung the bag with the food, setting it beside the witcher. "Have something to eat." He kept his speech short, not trusting his voice not to give away his feelings. He wasn't sure if he was about to cry with relief that Geralt was alright, or rail at him some more for being so blasé about almost dying. 

_He'd fucking deserve it._

Stacking the wood in a pyramid shape, he pulled out his flint and steel, only to jump back in surprise as fire sparked into life among the stacked branches. He glanced around and saw Geralt lowering his hand, face a shade paler than it had been a moment ago. "Why did you do that?" he demanded. "I had things in hand."

"It's quicker." 

"That's not the point!" 

Geralt just frowned in confusion. "I thought you were cold."

"I am!" 

"Then why didn't you light one before?" Geralt grimaced as soon as he'd said it. "That's not what I—" he started to say but the damage was done. 

Jaskier bit back the urge to punch him in his stupid, obstinate face. "Sorry, of course you're right. I probably should have lit one earlier and thus risked drawing the attention of ghouls or leshens or _fuck knows_ what else lurks in these woods," he snapped, "but at least while our innards were being feasted on our toes would have been warm."

Geralt stared at him, eyes wide in a rare expression of surprise. "What the fuck has got into you, Jaskier?" 

"I don't know, Geralt! Maybe I'm just on edge because we're in the middle of _fucking_ nowhere, with who knows what monstrosities lurking out there in the woods and you—" 

_Stop talking! Just stop!_

The silence stretched out for several long moments, before Geralt broke it with a low cough. "You're right. I'm...I'm sorry, Jaskier."

Jaskier blinked. _Did I just hear that right?_

"Why are you making that face?" 

"Excuse me, what did you just say? I didn't quite catch that." Jaskier cocked his head to one side in an exaggerated listening pose. 

The witcher visibly clenched his jaw, avoiding his gaze. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that you didn't… That you should have done things differently. And I'm glad you're here."

Jaskier stared at him. That was unexpected. The grudging apology was one thing; Geralt admitting not only that Jaskier wasn't a nuisance, but that he was actually glad of his presence? Something had to be wrong. _Maybe he hit his head when he fell over?_

"Stop looking at me like that." The yellow eyes narrowed. "Don't make me regret being nice to you."

"This is you being nice?" Jaskier huffed a laugh, feeling his whole body relax at the return of their usual repartee.

Geralt just shook his head slowly, closing his eyes for a moment before slowly opening them again. As the firelight flickered over his pale face, Jaskier could see his exhaustion in every line of his face. "You should get some sleep."

For a moment, Geralt looked like he wanted to argue, but even he—the eternal stoic—couldn't deny the symptoms of acute exhaustion and blood loss. Pulling the blankets tighter around himself, he shuffled closer to the fire and lay down on his side. 

"Wake me when you get tired," he said softly, eyes already closed. 

"Uh huh," Jaskier lied. _Not a chance, witcher._

* * *

Despite what he’d told Geralt, the bard didn’t sleep a wink that night. Every so often he found himself having to resist the urge to check the witcher’s pulse again, just in case. He didn’t, though. Too much of a risk that he’d either wake him up—and thus be ridiculed for the rest of time—or worse, he wouldn’t wake and that would be unthinkable. Jaskier had never seen the man look so vulnerable and it was, frankly, very unsettling. 

By the time the sun rose, tinting the sky a pale salmon pink, Geralt had stirred awake and was sitting back against the same tree as last night, taking inventory of his wounds. Jaskier took the opportunity to head into the bushes for a call of nature and tried to stifle a yawn on his way past, but the witcher's eyes narrowed. "I told you to wake me, bard."

"I wasn't tired," Jaskier lied cheerfully over his shoulder. He heard Geralt growl in response and rolled his eyes before ducking behind a bush. 

When he returned, the fire had been relit and there was a freshly killed rabbit lying beside it. Geralt looked up from sharpening a knife as he approached. 

"When did you… How?" Bemused, Jaskier waved a hand at the rabbit. 

"Axii." 

"Huh." 

The witcher went back to his task, as if there was nothing remarkable about catching their breakfast with mind-altering magic. Jaskier sat down by the fire and for a moment they shared a companionable silence, broken only by the sounds of the rabbit being prepared. For once, Jaskier didn't feel like filling it with his usual chatter. 

It still chilled him to think of how close his friend had come to death yesterday; not to mention how calm Geralt was about the whole thing! Sure, Jaskier knew that this was all in a day's work for a witcher (there was a reason that witchers usually didn't get to grow old, after all) but he'd always been able to view this attitude to life from a more detached angle. Now that he'd been up close and personal with the consequences of the witcher lifestyle, he wasn't sure what to make of the whole thing. 

"I can hear you worrying."

He shot Geralt a glare but didn't reply. What could he say? He _was_ worrying. 

"Jaskier, for the last time I'm _fine_. This is not unusual."

"For you, perhaps. I'm still new at this whole 'risking life and limb every other day' thing," the bard muttered. 

The witcher gave a sharp, exasperated sigh and set the rabbit to cook over the fire, stabbing the long stick into the ground with unnecessary force. "Why is this bothering you so much?" he asked with a confused frown. "I thought you wanted adventure and excitement."

"Oh, I did. I do. It's just…" He averted his eyes self-consciously. "You've never been _that_ close to dying before, at least not when I've been here. It scared me, Geralt." 

The witcher's frown softened a little. "Would it make you feel better to know I've survived far worse than that?" 

"No. I don't need any more anxiety today, thank you." He met Geralt's eyes and saw that, to his surprise, the witcher was giving him a small smile. "I'm glad my discomfort amuses you."

Geralt's smile widened. "You should be proud, Jaskier. You managed not to poison me while trying to help." 

Jaskier bristled but managed not to rise to his baiting, instead saying, "It would be easier not to poison you if half of those potions didn't look the same. Is there some witchering rule against labelling things?" 

The rabbit sizzled and Geralt reached over to turn it around. "Would it help if I showed you how to tell the difference?" 

Jaskier stared. "Are you—" he started to ask, but as the witcher's eyes narrowed in his direction he quickly changed tack. "Um, yes. Probably." 

"Alright. Pass me the bag."

"Wait, now? Right now?" 

Geralt gestured at the rabbit, still sizzling over the flames. "We've got some time to kill. Why not now?" 

As the witcher drew out several bottles and laid them on the mossy ground, Jaskier took a moment to reflect once again on the oddity that was their friendship. He wasn't sure how he'd gone from 'nuisance' though 'helpful' to 'trusted friend' but somehow he'd managed it. He gave himself a sharp mental shake and focused on what Geralt was saying. 

_Better pay attention, Jaskier. If you poison him after this, you've got no excuse._


End file.
